An Eye for an Eye
by poisonouschicken
Summary: Wilson's Heart AU. Amber survives, but what will happen to House?
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry, the bunny crawled in and never left. Whether I continue this is based on its reception, for War Wounds is my main priority right now.**

**So if you like it, let me know.**

* * *

"So we just need to start her on dialysis and flush the drugs out."

Wilson could have wept with joy if he wasn't so overcome with relief. He let his head fall into his latex-covered hands.

"She's going to be okay."

* * *

House stayed silent, sharing none of Wilson's happiness. He was thankful it was over – his head was a dull throb, and the numbness seemed to extend to the rest of his body. Wilson's fury would have to wait - right now House was too weary to care about anything else.

_You never could care about anything else,_ a voice taunted, _it's how you got into this situation in the first place._

Reprieve came in the form of a car's headlights, its blinding glow sending bolts of pain lancing through his skull.

He instinctively recoiled, and squeezed his eyes shut against the beam.

* * *

Chase started as House started to shake.

"He's seizing. Wilson, I need help here!"

* * *

Amber stepped cautiously toward the bus towering above her. The door hissed opened in invitation as soon as she reached it, but she stood outside hesitantly. She could not explain her trepidation; she was never one to be nervous, and the bus appeared empty from the outside. Still, being barefooted and wearing only a thin hospital gown made her feel exposed and naked, stripped of the defenses she had erected over the years.

She gingerly placed her foot on the first step. The metal step was cold and sent goosebumps up her leg. She froze after she ascended the steps - the bus was not as deserted as she thought.

He was stretched out casually in the backseat, long perfect legs extending lazily over the cushions. He was clad in similar attire, and the white glow around them seemed to illuminate his skin and smooth out his wrinkles, making him seem childlike and more peaceful than she had ever seen him. Yet there was an exhaustion that seemed to cling to him, settling about his shoulders like a weight.

She padded her way to the bench in front of him, and he ducked his head as she neared, sneaking glances at her through his periphery. Amber stared resolutely at him, silently willing him to face her. She decided to be the first to break the silence.

"Am I dead?"

He turned his attention back to his feet, raising one hand to scratch at the scruff on his cheek.

"Not yet."

"Are _you_ dead?"

He chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head in frustration, but his eyes were soft as he turned to her. Jerking his chin toward the door, he whispered softly, "You should go."

Amber placed her own hand gently on top of his, and her expression betrayed nothing as she watched him pretend not to flinch. She waited calmly until he met her eyes again before murmuring, "Come with me."

She gave his larger hand a gentle tug. She smiled softly as she took in his startled gaze, pale blue eyes going wide as his entire body stiffened.

"He'll want to see us both."

"Wilson's going to _hate_ me."

He deliberately avoided eye contact at his confession, as though shamed at his display. She refused to back off, and said the only thing she could to pull him out of his distress. Playfully shaking his hand to take the sting out of her comment, she teased, "You kind of deserve it."

It worked. His head snapped up in alarm and his stare reflected different shades of hurt, pain and betrayal before settling on resignation as he turned away, and replied in a small voice, "Yeah."

She bit her lip. Well that did not go according to plan. House was supposed to fight back like he always did, not clam up in surrender. Not used to the skittish and spooked creature in front of her, she iterated, "Come with me."

His voice was thick as he rubbed his forehead in agitation.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because."

Amber let the childish petulance slide; he was deflecting, she knew, running as best as he can from the emotions that threatened to spill from behind his closed eyelids. She said nothing, giving his hand a squeeze, silently urging him to continue.

"Because…it doesn't hurt here. I…I don't _want_ to be in _pain_, I don't _want_ to be _miserable_." House gave a nervous chuckle; he was not sure why he was opening up to her about this.

"And I don't want _him_ to hate me."

Surprised at his heartfelt confesson, Amber leaned forward, and quoting him from one of his many tirades, said gently, "Well, you can't always get what you want."

She tugged again on his hand, smiling encouragingly as she sought to rise. He seemed to shrink instead, curling about himself and wrenching his hand from her grasp. His eyes grew hard as he looked away, resting his forehead against the rear window, effectively dismissing her.

"Get off the bus."

Helpless and unsure of what to do, she made her way tentatively toward the exit. Amber, with a hand on the rail, gave one final glance at her companion, and softly but firmly asserted, "House…it wasn't your fault."

She waited, and finding no response from him, she stepped resignedly off the bus, allowing the warmth to engulf her.

* * *

House heard her footsteps recede, and cast his gaze around the empty bus. He reclined on the seats, shifting his right leg experimentally.

Her forgiveness meant nothing. He knew, rationally, it wasn't his fault. The accident wasn't borne out of a secret desire to split Wilson and Amber up. He liked Amber, he really did, she complemented Wilson well, and managed to do what he failed to – get Wilson to stand up for himself. Her forgiveness meant nothing simply because she wasn't the one House wanted to hear it from.

Doesn't matter.

He had no intention of returning, back to a life of unrelenting agony and where his best friend – his only friend - loathed him. Where everyday was never-ending struggle of pain and addiction – either his leg or the vicodin would kill him; neither choice promised a peaceful end. House did not know where his mortality lay at the moment, but if it ended here, now, he supposed it could be worse.

He sighed and closed his eyes. His job here was done; CB was happily being delivered back to Wilson, the mystery was solved, another patient saved. So why was he still here? Could it be he was still hanging on to a small spark of hope that everything would return back to normal? His leg would magically heal?

He snorted.

_Yeah, right._

He stretched his arms up, opening them up toward the ceiling, like a drowning man reaching for salvation.

"Come on! Take me to your leader!"

His sarcasm echoed in the silence, and he allowed his arms to flop bonelessly back to his side.

"Didn't think so."

How fucking ironic. Two pumping legs and nowhere to run.

House wondered if Wilson was fretting over Amber now, wide beaming smiles from everyone as the romantic couple live happily ever after. The dragon is slain, let us adjourn to the castle. He thought briefly about what happened to his body. It was probably abandoned in a dark corner of the hospital somewhere, as far away from the festivities as possible. That thing was useless anyway.

Try as he might, he couldn't take joy in Wilson's newfound bliss. Not when he wasn't the one to give it to him. Before Amber, House put up with Wilson's wives because he knew the relationship would fail. Wilson was also always there for him, through Stacy and the infarction, even risking his wives' fury. Then Tritter happened, and their friendship, though intact, was fundamentally altered. When Amber came along, Wilson had cut him out completely, placing his attention and affection on the shiny new bauble that came along. House's attempts at intervention all failed spectacularly, and even Cuddy was on Amber's side. House had tried removing himself from the equation - Wilson seemed happy enough without his help, and House didn't want a repeat of the Tritter fiasco, where he'd almost wrecked Wilson's career and freedom. By running away, House might be able to shelter his best friend from his own self-destruction.

_Fat load of good that did._

Enough. House had done the best he could, and fixed the problem. Between the accident, the heart attack, and the fight to save Amber's life he had no time for pit stops. He'd worked himself to the bone for Wilson. House could only hope that was enough.

Right now, he needed sleep.

House relaxed and tumbled trustingly into the darkness.

* * *

"Amber, hey, hey…It's James, can you hear me?"

Amber awoke to her lover's worried face inches away, brown eyes shining with concern as he brushed his thumb across her temples. His shirt was rumpled and his hair mussed, but he had never looked more alert than he was now.

Her voice was croaky and her throat dry, but she had managed a hoarse whisper, "Hey."

Wilson had laughed in relief, tears rolling down the corners of his eyes as he touched his forehead to hers.

"Hey. You're okay now. You're gonna be fine."

He fed her some ice chips, and leaned in to kiss her softly on her lips.

Feeling slightly stronger, she ventured, "What happened?"

"You were in an accident. We didn't get to you till it was almost too late. You've been out for almost 96 hours. Thought I was going to lose you there.

But you're okay now. You're going to be fine."

Wilson cupped her cheek, and Amber couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure himself or her, probably them both. She noticed he failed to bring up House, but right now she was too content and tired in his arms to care. It can wait; they have all the time in the world.

Amber fell asleep with her hand wrapped around Wilson's, and not long after Wilson followed her into slumber.

* * *

Three rooms away, Cuddy fought to prevent House from choking on his own saliva as he seized for the second time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, here's the next chapter.**

**I know Amber wouldn't have survived even with dialysis. But in my version, she does. Suppose this is why it's fan-_fiction_.**

**Having said that I have to ask for your forgiveness for any mistakes (medical or grammatical) that you might see.**

**Again, reviews are nice and very much appreciated.**

**Happy Chinese New Year!  
**

* * *

House opened his eyes, and promptly sat up in surprise. He was no longer a prisoner of the bus.

Instead trees with evergreen leaves that rustled gently in the wind have replaced the pale grey walls of the coach. A large lake that winked and glittered in the sun was sprawled out in front of him, and jogging track snaked around the park. Lying contentedly on a bench, House found himself alone in the middle of it all.

He was still wearing the thin material of his hospital gown, but with the sun's gentle rays warming him, he felt neither cold nor exposed. He stretched, limbs straight out and back arched like a cat.

If this was heaven, he was surprised he made it.

If this was hell, he didn't see what the fuss was about.

A stupid smile was starting to creep across his face, but House made no move to halt its progress. There was a reason he had picked this place as his new hideout after the Tritter fiasco. It was easier and more secluded to get to than the hospital roof, it allowed a better spot for people watching, and it was the last place anyone would think to look for him. If only Cameron had kept her mouth shut. It offered a chance for solitude when everywhere else was taken. The hospital constantly reminded him of his debt to Cuddy, his home had not been the same since the police placed their paws all over it, and now even Wilson's place was no longer welcome to him.

_Right. Amber._

The grin slid off his face as he recounted their last meeting. He swung his legs over the bench, landing with a soft "thump" on the grass. House tried a few experimental steps. He gingerly touched his thigh. Smooth, plump muscle lay under his skin, with no lingering evidence of his disability.

_Look ma! I'm walking all by myself!_

House felt his eyes grow moist as he chuckled in giddy pleasure and disbelief, and without preamble he sprinted for the jogging path.

* * *

Cuddy lightly traced over the veins on the back of House's hand with her finger.

House remained a four on the Glasgow Coma Scale, despite having been in the hospital's ICU for a week now. Cuddy had kept vigil by his bedside for the first two days, and would have continued doing so if duty hadn't called. Even so, she made it a point to stop by after work or whenever an opportunity presented itself. She cared for him as a friend; that was her excuse, and although there certainly was an attraction between them…no, she definitely did not _love_ House; her concern is merely for a friend. A relationship with House would open up a whole new world of problems anyway.

House's fellows have stopped by – both old and new. The current fellows have been temporarily reassigned to different departments in the hospital, depending on their specialties.

Diagnostics could not function without House, and Foreman was busy shuttling between caring for Amber and House. Chase and Cameron seemed to have taken it upon themselves the task of keeping House company whenever Cuddy was unable to, reading him the latest cases or hospital happenings. Chase had avoided Cuddy for a good number of days following the deep brain stimulation, having witnessed her wrath when she was informed of House's seizure and subsequent brain haemorrhage. Cuddy had retrieved House's iPod and portable speakers from his office, and used them to play his favourite songs softly in the ICU. She hoped the music and company would keep his brain active even if he couldn't hear them; House deserved all the comfort he could receive.

Wilson was too caught up with Amber's recovery to stop by. At least that was what Cuddy chose to believe. Those two have been her friends for many years, and she wasn't sure how she would react to their friendship falling apart. Or how either one of them would react. Wilson was all House had.

She'd been furious with Wilson. House was already walking around with a cracked skull and a concussion, sleep-deprived and in agony, propelled by his love for Wilson and a sense of urgency even House himself failed to understand. His rampage had led to a cardiac arrest – his third in a decade. She recalled Wilson's and her own blind panic when House collapsed on the bus, and her relief he was pulled away from the brink of death yet again. Only to have him hurtle into another crisis because of Wilson's request – demand, really – House would jump off a bridge if Wilson wished it.

House had been lonelier without Wilson. Ever since House found out about Amber he'd been spending more time in his office. Although House and Amber had _negotiated_, Wilson still occasionally ended up spending time with Amber on House's share. Without Wilson, House was lost. He buried himself in his cases and was crankier than ever, offending everybody he came into contact with, which stressed Cuddy out, which stressed House out even further. Cuddy had wondered why House wasn't fighting for Wilson's time like he did with all his ex-wives', but had decided it was none of her business to pry.

She sighed and tucked the covers more firmly about her patient.

House had lost weight. Without Wilson as a distraction to his cases, House often forgot meals, and when he did eat, it was usually on a sparse bachelor's diet of canned food or takeout. For a doctor he was quite an idiot.

"Moron." Cuddy chided softly, brushing her thumb lightly over his eyelids.

After House's second seizure, which caused yet another bleed and a spike in his intracranial pressure, they had to drill a hole in his skull to place the ICP monitor into.

Between the breathing tube, cardiac leads, catheters, and electrodes from the EEG, that are connected to his body, House looked more machine than man, yet he looked so painfully vulnerable even the nurses – whom were regularly browbeaten by House – have expressed their concern for him.

The tests have shown the fracture extended to the ear canal, so it was likely House would suffer some hearing loss. Any neurological damage would have to be assessed when he wakes up. When it happens, she'll make sure she's there.

Cuddy leaned in close, and tenderly brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Hey sleeping beauty..."

* * *

House rested his hands on his hips as he slowed to a jog.

This had to be heaven. He'd been running for what seemed like a good part of an hour, yet he wasn't panting, and his bare feet didn't sting. He had all the joys of running, with none of the side effects. House allowed the laugh he'd been trying to contain bubble happily out, as he flopped down on the grass, resting on his elbows with one leg bent, closing his eyes against the soft breeze that caressed his face and swept through his hair.

_Fuck it. _

_Fuck the accident, fuck Amber, and to hell with Wilson._

He'd use to do this when he was able. After a fight with Stacy or a particular difficult case, House would strap on his running shoes and run till he was wobbly-legged. Running was mindless. Left foot, right foot. The mechanical aspect of it allowed his mind to reorganise itself, find its way out of the maze. He welcomed the fuzzy static in his head that was brought on by the thump of his footsteps and the blur of his surroundings. After his surgery, the Vicodin was the only thing that took the edge off. It muted his pain, and his senses, but left his intellect whole.

House snapped his eyes open when he heard a quiet burble from his left. He canted his head in confusion.

He was alone, wasn't he?

As always, curiosity won out. House pulled himself to his feet, hopping on his left leg purely out of habit. Jerkily he made his way toward the noise.

What he saw there made his eyes widen in shock. House froze, feeling as though his internal organs have turned to stone. In front of him, under the shade provided by an oak, lay Cuddy with her back to him.

House liked Cuddy. She was insufferable, stubborn, competent, snarky, smart enough to keep up with him and on the whole an extremely well rounded boss.

And he wasn't exactly referring to her personality.

Their chemistry had changed in the few past years. Ever since she'd approached him for his opinion on sperm donors, a different element was introduced. She trusted him with her daily injections of menotropins, and he saw fit to let her in on his plans for the Ketamine treatment, after the whole morphine/placebo betrayal. Their interactions have become more flirtatious, more candid. Hell, she perjured herself to keep him out of jail.

She can't be dead.

As he drew nearer he saw a smaller figure lying beside her – a boy, perhaps seven years of age, maybe younger. Intrigued and more than a little bewildered, he plunked himself down beside her. In his usual crass manner – damn it, why can't he ever be nicer to her - he expressed his concern.

"Who's the garden gnome? Does he like Mozart too?"

She ignored him, focusing her attention on the child.

Nothing new there.

Feeling just a tad remorseful, he gently reached out for her.

"…Cuddy, I'm…- "

House stiffened as he watched his hand pass right through her shoulder. He tried again. This time his hand went right through her body, emerging from her sternum. Feeling more than a little freaked, her flexed his hand and watched his fingers curl in front of Cuddy's face. He quickly redrew his arm, jerking quickly to his feet. He made his way to the sleeping boy, and found he phased right through him too. Leaning forward, he waved a hand in front of Cuddy's eyes.

"Hello?"

Nothing. It was as if he wasn't there. That's odd. He remembered Amber's hand on his back on the bus, felt the pressure as she pulled and pleaded. Yet he can't touch Cuddy, can't speak to her, but there she was, whole and ethereal in front of him.

And who the hell was the kid?

He stood and blinked in confusion and watched as Cuddy tapped the boy on the nose. The boy grimaced and buried his face in the crook of his arm. Cuddy laughed and wrapped an arm around the smaller frame.

"Hey sleeping beauty. Ready to wake up?"

The boy fought to hide a grin, but kept his eyes firmly closed. Cuddy played along, poking him lightly in the stomach.

"I know you can hear me."

House, bemused by the playful interaction, crouched and watched intently, like he did to patients from outside their rooms.

His brow wrinkled as Cuddy tickled the boy, the child's happy laughter floating out to the open air. The noise made him feel uneasy. There was something familiar, but try as he might, House could not pinpoint the source of his discomfort. Cuddy's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"You've caused a lot of trouble today."

House couldn't see the boy's face, but from Cuddy's expression – a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance – he guessed the kid must have pulled a face at her. God knows he recognised her look. He'd seen it often; usually whenever he made a rude joke or did something stupid.

Cuddy lovingly ran a hand through the boy's unruly curls. He watched as she placed a small kiss on the squirt's forehead, and whispered softly, "Promise me you won't do it again?"

House felt as though he'd been clubbed over the head as the child removed his arm and lifted his head to look at her. The blue eyes, the curly locks – House remembered those.

This wasn't Cuddy's non-existent son – it was Gregory House, aged five and undamaged.

Cuddy was talking to _him_.

* * *

**If you loved or hated it, don't keep it to yourself.**


	3. Chapter 3

**BAH I've been feeling so uninspired lately, what with school assignments piling up. Plus I've just re-read all my previous stories and chapters and I feel like I have to apologise to anyone who has read them.**

**In any case, here's the latest chapter, please forgive my mistakes, medical or otherwise.**

**Hope you enjoy it, I don't know when the nest update will come to me. **

**Of course, reviews help.**

* * *

"Were you ever going to tell me about this?"

Wilson shifted under the intense gaze of his girlfriend. Though wounded and incapacitated the woman could still be intimidating. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I'll go get you some more ice chips."

Amber's hand shot out and stopped his progress.

"James. What happened between you and House?"

Sighing heavily, Wilson gave a short shake of his head.

"Nothing happened."

"Right. Which is why I had to find out from _Foreman_ that my ex-boss is in a coma a few rooms away, after a heart attack, seizure and a brain bleed, and his best friend hasn't been in to see him."

Amber's eyes softened even as Wilson grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. Exhaling raggedly, Wilson gently lifted her hand off his arm and brought it to his lips.

"You could've died."

"If I did, it's not his fault."

"I-I know that, but I keep thinking…If he hadn't called you…It's crazy but if we hadn't done the DBS, we never would have found out how to treat you."

Amber felt her throat grow tighter as she saw the depth of fear and desperation in her partner's eyes as he looked up at her.

"I can't lose you."

"James, you have to go see him. If it weren't for House, I wouldn't be alive."

Amber cupped Wilson's cheek, and silently begged him to understand.

"James, he saved my life. We need to thank him."

Her gaze turned serious.

"Either you go see him, or I will."

* * *

She'd been relieved when Wilson had nodded, squeezing her hand tightly and leaned in for a kiss before he hesitantly left the room, turning back occasionally to look at her before he disappeared from sight.

Amber watched her boyfriend step cautiously out of the room, looking unusually dishevelled. Since she woke up Wilson had barely left her side, and no mention of House had been made. Every time she had tried to bring up the subject, Wilson had carefully skirted around the conversation, putting House's deflection skills to shame.

Amber had been puzzled when she found out Foreman was in charge of her case. He was second-in-command after all, and Wilson she knew would not settle for anything but the best for the people he cared about. When Wilson was asleep in the chair beside her, mouth hung open and unconscious, she seized the opportunity and questioned Foreman.

Amber was taken aback by her doctor's answer.

Skull fracture, amnesia, sleep deprivation, heart attack, deep brain stimulation, and concluding with a seizure and a brain hemorrhage that sent her fellow survivor into a coma.

Foreman had been belligerent toward Wilson for days, cutting him off whenever Wilson had enquired about Amber's health or spoke, and shooting him stony glares as he treated Amber. She'd been confused then, and had snapped at Foreman while wondering why Wilson was taking the abuse.

Now she sat feeling guilty – not about Foreman, anyone who messed with Wilson ought to be punished – but because she was conscious and well on the road to recovery while House was comatose, his health and future uncertain.

Whenever they were in the same room, House and Amber had bristled with open suspicion and distrust. It didn't help that both of them were competitive by nature, and Amber hated how House had always managed to outsmart and baffle her at every turn during the gladiatorial internship process.

The hostility had increased after Wilson became the prize, and a savage tug-of-war for his affection had erupted once House found out about their relationship. They were both lonely, and Wilson had been their one chance for a normal relationship. Besides, she had been certain the bond between the two men was legendary – rumours of them were a staple of the hospital gossip train – so what did it matter that she borrowed Wilson for a while? She had openly gloated about how he'd lost the negotiation for Wilson's time, when she had finally managed to defeat him in something. If Wilson ever wanted to spend more time with House, he could have just said so, but he never did, and although it was selfish, she had been pleased. House had gradually backed off, and Amber hadn't tried too hard to stay in contact with him after that. Her love should have been enough for Wilson. She realised belatedly she had been sorely mistaken.

That House had gone to such extents to save her spoke of how much he still cared for his best friend, and how little people knew about the diagnostician. He'd never backed off from the competition.

House was the only one who actually knew the rules of the game. The struggle was never about for whom Wilson loved more or who loved Wilson more, it had been about who could make Wilson happier. By trading in his life for hers, Wilson wasn't House's gift to Amber; Amber was House's gift to Wilson.

And House's 'gift' made Wilson happiest. The bastard had outsmarted her again. Amber sighed and settled further into the bed.

She owed House an overdue apology. She could only hope he'd live long enough to gloat.

* * *

Foreman glared incredulously at Cameron as he finished his neurological examination of House.

At the receiving end of Foreman's irritation, Cameron held up her hands placatingly, "All I'm saying is, his girlfriend was in an accident. He's worried. He should be. "

She glanced from Foreman to the comatose form of their former mentor.

"How's he doing?"

"EEG shows no further seizures, O2 SATS are holding, ICP still slightly elevated, but within normal range." Foreman tucked the pen back into his lab coat and straightened to look at Cameron. "House was in the accident too, yet Wilson thought it was best for House to stick a probe into his head and electrocuted his brain."

Cameron's eyes flickered to the shaved spot on House's head where the hole had been drilled into. The wound was red and angry, contrasting starkly with the pale scalp. She sighed heavily. "House agreed to the procedure, he suggested it. And if he hadn't done it, Amber would be dead."

Foreman huffed in disbelief. "I can't believe you're actually defending him! His best friend just seized a second time and needs a hole drilled into his skull and he can't care enough to even function as a proxy! I mean you shoulda seen the man when he signed the consent to the surgery, barely glanced at it. And House is crazy! Which is why it's our job to stop him from killing himself!"

Cameron stared morosely at the figure on the bed - eyes closed and completely unaware of the argument going on around him. Without looking up, she spoke softly into the silence, "We failed." Foreman's temper subsided at those words, and he pointedly looked away, clenching his jaw.

They were both startled by a small noise from outside the room.

Wilson stood there with his hand on the door, nervously meeting their gazes as he shuffled uncomfortably. Pretending he hadn't heard the conversation that took place, he scratched his head uneasily.

"Hey."

He waited. Cameron gave a soft embarrassed smile while Foreman simply looked incensed. Both said nothing though, so Wilson continued, "Can I…um, see him? Privately?"

Foreman's snort came the same time as Cameron's slightly optimistic assent as she evacuated the chair and gestured for Wilson to come in. Between the two responses, Wilson figured it averaged to be neutral. He thanked Cameron and made sure to avoid Foreman's reach as they passed. Wilson made sure House's ex-fellows had completely evacuated the room before he approached the bed with growing dread. Without anyone to distract him, his attention was zoned in to his best friend's defenceless form.

He'd seen this sight too many times. The infarction, the shooting, the stupid stunt with the power socket…Wilson had loyally seen House through recovery, and House had always bounced back. And in all of those instances, _Wilson_ himself hadn't been the cause. Wilson took in the different leads and tubes that were connected to House's body, completely still and fragile, dwarfed by the bed and the array of monitors that stood sentinel. He remembered Foreman's heated comments from a few minutes ago.

Was this really his doing?

He wasn't guilty. To save Amber he was willing to lose everything he had. He was just stunned that House did too. Wilson had been frustrated by House's stubbornness to rest after the accident, going against all advice to in his quest for an answer. He hadn't been prepared to lose his best friend over a random stranger.

But she wasn't random or a stranger.

Shakily he started to speak, doing his best to ignore the hissing of the respirator that almost drowned his voice. "Hey."

Wilson swallowed convulsively, unsure of how to proceed. "I don't even know if you can hear me but…Amber…thought I – we - should thank you. She also thought I …needed to see how you were doing. So…thank you I guess."

He got up to pace. Best get this over with.

"Look, I don't blame you for the crash. I should have been the one on the bus, not — You should have been alone on the bus. But this has made me see that…as long as you're around, Amber and I won't be able to have a relationship. I mean, you two can't stand to be around each other, and you spread misery because you can't feel anything else. You manipulate people because you can't handle any kind of real relationship. And I've enabled it. For years. The games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls."

Wilson drew a hand across his eyes as he turned around to address the diagnostician.

"I'm leaving the hospital – permanently - once she's recovered. If I've learned anything from Amber, it's that I have to take care of myself. We're not friends anymore, House. I'm not sure we ever were."

He reached out and squeezed House's blanketed foot.

"Hope you get better House."

His mission completed, Wilson wordlessly turned his back to the bed as he stalked toward the hospital walkway.

* * *

**Sorry you had to read that, would you like to comment anyway?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry bout the hiatus.**

**This is a really short chapter I suppose, but my attention span and pathetic writing skills only allow for this much.**

**Hope you'll enjoy it anyway.**

**And I'm sorry for the digression, but I have to address this review for the previous chapter:**

_"Interesting. I like that you have used much of the show dialogue. interesting that you have Foreman against Wilson given that he was the only one who could see that perhaps for Wilson leaving was the right thing to do. Lets be realistic here House got off lucky, he didn't die! He didn't loose anything he values after all Wilson is nothing more than a meal ticket to him. House was only to willing to screw up the 'friendship' over Vogler / Tritter so why should Wilson hang around."_

**I chose Foreman because he is the only fellow who probably will confront Wilson about it. He hates House sure, but he seems to be professional in his treatment of patients and we know how he gets if he feels that something isn't right. Cameron would be too polite and sympathetic toward Wilson's romance, so she would be most likely to support Wilson's actions**

**Wilson may also be the only thing House values.**

* * *

Cuddy looked up as Wilson quietly placed a letter on her desk.

"What's this?"

Wilson's eyes remained fixed on the polished wood surface.

"My resignation. I just need a week to wrap up my clinical and administrative duties."

Cuddy shook herself from her stunned silence and stared at the man in front of her, who met her gaze with a conviction that wasn't there before.

"Because of what happened?"

"This has nothing to do with the accident."

Cuddy snorted disbelievingly.

"Right. So I'm supposed to think this act of rationality just _happened_ to coincide with - "

Wilson raised a hand in an ineffective attempt to interrupt, and gradually their voices began to increase in volume, each trying to make themselves heard by the other.

"Cuddy, it's not - "

"You just don't want to face - "

"I just can't _deal_ with him anymore!"

A hushed silence suddenly seized the room, and both its occupants stood facing each other from opposite ends, tensed with surprise, taken unawares by the confession or the intensity of the conflict.

Cuddy was first to regain her composure. Walking slowly toward Wilson, she placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Wilson. It's not his fault."

Frustrated, Wilson scratched at his forehead.

"I don't blame him for the crash."

Instead of the relief Cuddy had anticipated she would feel, the statement seemed to confuse her further, and she stammered hopelessly for a few seconds before Wilson spoke again.

"The crash was an accident. But…what happened to Amber," Wilson let out a harsh exhale.

"She shouldn't have been there. She wouldn't have, if he never made that call."

"She wouldn't be alive if it weren't for House."

"No, she wouldn't. But what happened…made me realise that as long as House is around, I could never be happy with Amber. He's destructive. And I can't stay here anymore."

Cuddy let go of Wilson's arm and lowered herself onto the couch as her mind sought to work its way free of the mess of tangles that is House and Wilson.

"James. House, your best friend - "

Cuddy chose to turn a blind eye to Wilson's almost imperceptible flinch at the title, "is currently in a coma, and is unlikely to wake up anytime soon, because of a procedure you recommended. Destructive or not, he loves you."

Wilson deliberately dropped his gaze and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"House consented to the DBS."

Even to his ears the line sounded meek.

Cuddy slowly drew herself back to her full height; the flint in her eyes and the tilt of her chin lending an authoritative dignity that explained her position as Dean. She spoke in a quiet and even manner, but Wilson heard every word.

"He consented because you wanted him to. Start a new life with Amber if you think that's best, but don't for one second blame House for your failures."

Her gaze softened minutely.

"You're hurting, but it will not get better by you walking away from everyone that cares about you. If you need some time to deal with this - "

"I appreciate that, Lisa. But my decision is final."

Cuddy stood contemplating her oncologist, hoping he would soon come to his senses and snap himself out of whatever plagued him, and retract his resignation. When she knew no such action was forthcoming, she merely nodded.

"Any plans?"

"Princeton General's looking to expand their oncology department. I'll start there."

"Okay. Have you spoken with Amber about this?"

"Not yet. I'm – She got enough to worry about."

"…And what about House?"

"He's comatose."

Cuddy felt a sharp pang of hurt at the casual dismissal, as though she was the one on the bed upstairs. Biting her lip to stop saying anything she might regret, she let her diplomatic side take over.

"If – When he wakes up, he's going to ask about you."

Wilson directed a soft, pitying gaze on her, like she was delusional for clinging on to such hope.

"Then just tell him," Wilson chuckled regretfully.

"Tell him I'm happy with Amber."

* * *

"Just say sorry."

House regarded the child sitting next to him incredulously.

"Are we actually the same person?"

House picked up a blade of grass and shredded it between his fingers, and quietly murmured, "You heard him. He hates me. Hates us."

He stared mournfully at the grass strips as they fluttered back to the ground. A mere whisper breathed past his lips, "About time, too."

Shrugging away the melancholy, House faced the kid again.

"And besides, we're unconscious. Hard to form words when you're a vegetable, in case Dad hasn't hammered that lesson in your skull."

The child paid no attention to the barb, and tossed a pebble into the lake.

Great, now he was insulting himself.

Wilson would probably throw in something about taking self-loathing to a new level.

But Wilson wasn't here now.

House sat back and watched the stone as it plopped into the water.

"You can always go back," House Jr chirruped from his elbow.

"No wonder he left. Even I don't like you."

_Even I don't like me._

The boy merely frowned slightly, and picked up another pebble, and threw it at his adult form, smirking as it bounced innocently off the side of his head.

House glared at the child until he scampered away.

He could go back, House mused.

But with Wilson gone, he wasn't sure if he had a reason to.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

**Woah, sorry bout the pathetic lack of updates.**

**I'm making this up as I go, so I have absolutely no plan from one chapter to the next.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway.**

* * *

"Ready to go?"

Amber looked up from her wheelchair as Wilson hoisted the backpack over his shoulder and moved to push her from the room. Passing the nurse's station, she didn't miss the pointed glances thrown their way by the hospital staff, cupping their hands over the mouths to whisper.

As they approached the elevators, Amber steeled herself and gripped the wheel of her wheelchair with her right hand, bringing the procession to a abrupt halt.

"James."

And like that, he was by her side, trademark eyes shining with concern.

"I want to see him."

Wilson's whole frame stiffened – as she predicted – and his concern faded as he mopped his brow with his hand. He didn't speak, so she continued.

"I'm not asking, James. I know where his room is, I'm going there whether you like it or not."

Noticing the stubborn set of her face, eyebrows raised in challenge, Wilson knew she wasn't in the mood to negotiate. God forbid, he's had enough experience with stubborn handicapped people to last him a lifetime. Nodding his concession, he moved to swivel the chair around.

"You don't have to say if you don't want to. I'll meet you outside."

Amber pretended not to notice the relief that flitted across Wilson's face - or the guilt – or the way her boyfriend, unable to help himself, nervously reached out to straighten the covers over his ex-bestfriend, made sure she was comfortable, kissed her, made sure she was comfortable again, then shuffled out of the room.

Now left alone, Amber lost all previous confidence, and whatever she had planned to say was forgotten the minute she saw House. On the bed, he looked non-threatening and gaunt, intubated and wired up like every other patient she's treated under his supervision.

_No, not like every other patient._

_Not like any patient._

Someone's been taking care of him though. Stacks of medical journals were placed next to his bed, and to her amusement, so was the oversized tennis ball. Amber had a feeling Kutner had something to do with the latter. He looked clean and shaven, and Amber could detect a faint trace of Cuddy's perfume.

"Why is it our phone calls always end with one or both of us hospitalised?"

For once in his life, House had no snarky reply for her.

Uncomfortable with the lack of argument, Amber picked at the rubber tyres of her current mode of transport. She decided to keep their conversation short.

"I'll take care of him."

Thirteen made her way towards House's room, fists clenched in the pockets of her lab coat. With House comatose and Diagnostics helping out in various departments – more cases, less work - she'd welcomed the change in pace. The work kept her distracted enough, kept her busy, made her _useful_.

The team had voluntarily taken turns to check on House every hour. She carried out her duties as quickly as possible. House was always still, quiet passive under her hands. Her mother had flailed and struggled, sending cups and plates crashing to the floor as she yelled.

Running a hand through her hair, her eyes flicking about the walkway as though she'd see someone sneering at her, she failed to notice the visitor in her boss's ward until she'd reached the doorway.

Amber's head snapped up at her entrance, her eyes flashing, as though daring her to say something. Thirteen decided to let this challenge pass as she moved to change House's IV bag.

Hanging the new bag on the pole, she ventured an attempt to defuse the situation.

"Heard you've been discharged."

"That's what happens when people get better."

Thirteen smiled tolerantly.

"I'll miss you, Amber."

"Would you like a tissue?"

Thirteen smirked and chuckled, choosing to make a note in House's chart than rise to the bait.

Giving the bed rails one last pat, Amber pushed herself toward the door. Pausing for a final word, she said, not unkindly, "See you, Dr Hadley."

Thirteen waited till she was out of the room.

"Good luck."

"He's not coming back, is he?"

House's companion flopped down next to him.

"He will. Give him time."

House glanced at Cuddy from the corner of his eyes.

"Why are you here?"

Cuddy shrugged, her reply a sarcastic drawl.

"You tell me, it's your imagination."

House scrunched his face up.

"If it was, shouldn't you be half-naked by now?"

Instead of hissing in annoyance and rolling her eyes, Cuddy's gaze simply softened.

"You're scared. You think if Wilson leaves - "

"_When_ Wilson leaves -"

"_Once_ Wilson leaves, there'll be no one to help you."

"I don't need help."

This time, Cuddy did roll her eyes and House can't help his little smile of amusement as he took in her exasperation.

Catching sight of his childish delight, blue eyes twinkling with glee, Cuddy shook her head and tried to keep her expression serious.

"House."

Looking everywhere but at her, House ducked his head.

"I don't need Wilson to help me."

"Maybe he needs you."

House looked at her, unconvinced. Cuddy leaned forward.

"Wake up, talk to him."

"About what?"

"Tell him you're sorry."

Angry and frustrated – _which part of this do these idiots not get_? – House snapped.

"I didn't ask her to come out. I wasn't driving the bus. I wasn't driving the garbage truck that hit the bus!"

He'd paid his penance - he'd apologised goddammit - cracked his skull open at his behest, and that mattered to Wilson as much as his first marriage.

Cuddy reached for his hand, hoping to smooth his ruffled feathers.

"Yes, I know, that's all true. You want to keep him; he needs to know you care. Just tell him you feel like crap."

Shaking his head, House said flatly, "It'd be meaningless."

It _was_.

"Well, then, find some meaning. And do something."

"I told him I'm sorry. He didn't believe it."

He stood up, shrugging off her touch, and stalked away.

Cuddy called toward his retreating back.

"You know, you're doing the same thing he is! You're running away."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

**Here we go.**

**Story's coming along, one glacier at a time.**

**Reviews would be nice.**

* * *

"…It says here 'Both Tasigna and Glivec inhibit Bcr-Abl, the definitive cause of Ph+ CML — in effect, shutting down production of the Ph chromosome. Tasigna was specifically designed to be a more selective inhibitor of Bcr-Abl and its mutations, which can cause resistance to treatment…'"

Cuddy slapped the issue of 'New England Journal of Medicine' shut and looked at the prone form of House.

"You probably already knew that. You always did. Do. Dammit."

Embarrassed and furious at her slip – he's not _dead_, for fuck's sake – Cuddy busied herself with House's chart for the umpteenth time since she'd walked into the room an hour ago. Feeling foolish – there was no one else here, and he probably can't hear you – she angrily jammed the file into its holder.

Her control was falling to pieces, one person at a time. Since his leaving, her telephone conversations with Wilson – who was too well groomed to sever all contact – were awkward and painful, both skirting around the giant elephant in the middle of the room. More frighteningly, her daily "interactions" with House seem to have fallen into a comfortable routine, and that familiarity was something she would never get used to.

Comatose for slightly over a month now, the chances of House waking up grew slimmer with each passing second, and although the fracture seemed to be healing nicely, it was unlikely House's brain would escape unscathed. The fellows' visits have grown less frequent, and Cuddy spent much of her time ignoring pitying looks cast her way by her own staff every time she stepped into this room.

But she couldn't let him go.

It pained her that her mental image of House, a layered portrait carefully cultivated over decades, the gorgeous crippled child of Dr. Joseph Bell and AC/DC with stupendous blue eyes was slowly fading into the wasted shell in front of her, pale and tubed, quiet and uninteresting.

However, with him unconscious, Cuddy could pretend he would still be the House she knew – brilliant, funny, snarky – after he woke. And both images were more welcome than the last option: that House would no longer be _her_ House when he awakes. Her House wasn't brain-damaged, and her House had a Wilson (Not to be sold separately).

Sighing, she settled her paperwork on her lap and eyed the monolithic life support systems that surrounded House.

"If you're doing this to avoid clinic duty…"

Cuddy turned the iPod on and let Muddy Waters fill the silent room.

* * *

Wilson hovered anxiously around Amber as she reached for her crutches.

"Take your time, you don't have to rush this."

Amber rolled her eyes, but allowed him to grasp her shoulders to steady her.

"I'll be fine. I've got more legs than you."

Wilson snorted.

"Yeah, I feel completely reassured."

Amber waved him off and hobbled toward the bathroom.

Wilson allowed a small smile as he watched her, and then became sombre as he remembered a different hobbling form – just as stubborn, just as funny, just as infuriating.

Just as memorable.

He shook his head and moved to the kitchen, oblivious to Amber's watchful gaze from the bathroom door.

* * *

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

House looked up from where he stood in the fountain.

"Taking a bath, what's it look like I'm doing?"

He screwed up his face and tilted his head.

"Didn't I get rid of you?"

Growling in frustration, Amber hopped into the fountain next to him, and seized his arm as he immediately turned to leave.

"How long do you plan to keep this up?"

House put on his most pathetic face.

"Until my broken little heart is fixed."

"Do you want to die? Is that it? Cause sooner or later someone's gonna give up, and pull the plug."

"They need Wilson to do that. Which he won't agree to."

"You don't know that."

"Pleas, letting go is the one thing the man won't do."

He stared at her with a sneering eye.

"Can't say the same for his women."

Amber slapped him on his bicep.

"Is that what this is about? You're still mad cause he picked me over you?"

Amber thought she saw his eyes flash briefly.

"Give me a break. You were dying, _ergo_, the most needy."

"_You're_ dying, and he doesn't even want to see you."

Hurt caused his features to fall slightly, giving him the appearance of a kicked puppy. His shields were up again in the next second, his voice a steely monotone.

"Then it should be no problem to sign the letter of consent."


End file.
